


Form Informs Nature

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Animal Death, Fluff, Implied Relationships, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love, Loving Marriage, M/M, Post-Canon, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Romance, Slice of Life, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 03:57:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20001952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: A small series of vignettes exploring how Aziraphale and Crowley adapt to being themselves around each other. Features brief animal death.





	Form Informs Nature

**Author's Note:**

> This work came about following a conversation between myself and my beloved friend, DoodlesAndSuch. We laughed ourselves silly at some of the ideas we were sharing before they asked me to turn it into a fic they could read. I hope they enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it for them.

They are in the garden when it happens. Not THE garden, that is, just their garden. Crowley had been supervising the pruning of a rose bush, Aziraphale following directions meticulously. It was an arrangement they’d settled into after discovering that none of Crowley’s plants trusted him with secateurs. Although the plant husbandry techniques that Crowley employed had mellowed significantly, pruning had become a shared activity that the couple both enjoyed.

Now, standing, Aziraphale carries the shears and his gardening gloves back to the greenhouse, Crowley follows carrying the kneeling pad and the bucket of cuttings for the compost pile. Crowley has his back to the angel, which probably explains a little of what happens next. A mouse, disturbed from its hiding place, darts out across the workbench. With distinctly snake-like reflexes, Crowley snatches the mouse up and breaks its neck with one hand. He swallows it whole before remembering that he isn’t alone.

A few seconds pass in silence. Crowley has no way of knowing if Aziraphale is watching him and his mind is blank with panic. He steps out of the greenhouse without a word and walks back to the house.

Aziraphale watches him leave, amazed that someone with as practised a casual saunter as Crowley can look so much like a self-conscious foal learning to walk. He looks like he’s borrowing someone else’s legs. Aziraphale stays in the greenhouse for a few minutes, pondering on how best to use his new information.
    
    
    --.   --..,_   _,.--.   --..,_   _,.--.   --..,_   _,.--.   --..,
    o  `;__. `'.:'`__ o  `;__. `'.:'`__ o  `;__. `'.:'`__ o  `;__. `' .
    ---'`  `  .'.:`. '---'`  `  .'.:`. '---'`  `  .'.:`. '---'`  `  .'.
    --....--'`.'  '.`'--....--'`.'  '.`'--....--'`.'  '.`'--....--'`.'
    --....--'`      `'--....--'`      `'--....--'`      `'--....--'`   

  
Habits are easily formed and seldom broken. Neither of them could pinpoint exactly when Tuesday nights had become movie nights, and certainly, neither of them ever called it movie night, but that did not change the fact that Tuesday night would always find the immortal pair on the sofa, under a blanket, and sharing a bowl of popcorn. They had even fallen into an unofficial system for who picked the film each week. Like so many things between them, it was entirely unspoken.

Crowley is responsible for tonight’s choice. Aziraphale is in the kitchen, hoping that it won’t be another psychological thriller, and popping popcorn. He is also using the noise of the popcorn to cover his other, more illicit activity. For once, he is pleased that Crowley rarely ever eats. The packet of mice have been in the freezer for almost a week, and then defrosting in the fridge all day. It would have been no fun for Crowley to have found them on his own. Aziraphale checks the details in his reptile care book once more and compares the temperature of the mice he’s been warming for Crowley. Finding that they are in the optimal range, Aziraphale arranges six mice on a plate with some tasteful garnish. He had considered providing a dipping sauce but the thought of deciding what to serve with mice was too daunting.

Aziraphale knows that he has two settings when it comes to winding up Crowley. It’s either a spur of the moment quip or a prank so carefully planned and executed that Crowley would never see it coming. Aziraphale also knows that this gives him the benefit of deniability. He exudes innocence from his very core making it appallingly easy to believe that his clever wordplay is an unintended double entendre and that his carefully laid trap is merely a thoughtful gesture gone awry. He’s leaning heavily on the latter belief this evening. Aziraphale carries the popcorn and the plate of mice through to where Crowley is waiting, blanket at the ready.

Crowley looks quizzically at the plate, currently held above his eye level. Aziraphale’s face is the very definition of innocence as he folds his legs under him and settles down on to the couch. Crowley snorts and stiffens at the sight of the mice, laid out like delicate hors d’oeuvres.

“I know that popcorn isn’t really your thing, dearest. I thought I’d offer you something more fitting.” Aziraphale smiles sweetly. “I won’t be offended if you don’t like them.”

Crowley takes the plate and prods one of the mice with the tip of his finger.

“I do hope I got the temperature right for you, I did rather a lot of reading on the subject.” Aziraphale maintains his composure in the face of Crowley’s growing confusion.

“Angel, I-” Crowley stops short, unsure of what to say next. He’s skating a very fine line between touched, horrified, and bewildered. This is exactly where Aziraphale wants him to be.

“Oh, Crowley, it’s OK. I thought this might be a problem.” Aziraphale pulls a pair of tongs from his jacket pocket. “The gentleman at the pet store showed me how to use these to hold the mouse for you, if you need.”

It’s little more than a hairline fracture in his facade, but it is a break. Just a twitch of a muscle in one cheek. Crowley suddenly recognises that he’s being pranked in the peculiarly loving way that Aziraphale has. The game changes.

“Would you mind? Just give them a little wiggle off to one side for me?”

And so, with both thinking they’d got one over on the other, the couple spends the evening watching a film cuddled up together as usual. Every now and then, Aziraphale picks up a mouse with the tongs and wiggles it at the edge of Crowley’s vision until he strikes. It’s a very funny joke, but the punchline isn’t for them.
    
    
    --.   --..,_   _,.--.   --..,_   _,.--.   --..,_   _,.--.   --..,
    o  `;__. `'.:'`__ o  `;__. `'.:'`__ o  `;__. `'.:'`__ o  `;__. `' .
    ---'`  `  .'.:`. '---'`  `  .'.:`. '---'`  `  .'.:`. '---'`  `  .'.
    --....--'`.'  '.`'--....--'`.'  '.`'--....--'`.'  '.`'--....--'`.'
    --....--'`      `'--....--'`      `'--....--'`      `'--....--'`   

Aziraphale thinks that Crowley is avoiding him. He’s been sleeping a lot more than usual and has started wearing his sunglasses again. Aziraphale’s feelings are a little hurt, but he knows Crowley and he knows the contents of a significant number of relationship advice books by heart. Crowley will talk to him when he’s ready, Aziraphale just needs to stay available.

Crowley slouches through the kitchen on his way out to the garden, he is wearing a blanket. Aziraphale watches him walk the length of the garden and then flop on to the rock garden at the end. The blanket slides off, revealing that Crowley is naked underneath.

“Oh, good Lord.” Aziraphale mutters to no one in particular.

Still, at least he’s outside. And he’s basking, an activity he enjoys. Aziraphale consoles himself with that knowledge as he goes about his day. The angel checks on things outside repeatedly, peeking out of whatever window is convenient to see the resting form splayed out on the rocks. Crowley changes position often enough to reassure Aziraphale that all is well.

The sun is getting low when Aziraphale decides to go fetch Crowley in, it doesn’t make sense for him to get cold after a good day of basking. Upon seeing Crowley laying prone in the grass, Aziraphale breaks into a concerned half-run.

“Crowley, dear! Are you OK?”

He sees the demon, prostrate and twitching, rubbing his face against the edge of a sharp rock. Hesitantly, he reaches down to touch Crowley on the shoulder.

“Don’t touch!” Crowley doesn’t turn away from his rock. “I gotta shed.”

Aziraphale is at a loss for words. He opens and closes his mouth as if expecting to speak but finds only confused sounds.

“Finally!” Crowley announces with glee, twisting his head so Aziraphale can see a papery tear across the bridge of his nose.

“C- Can I help?”

“No need, Angel. I’ve done this a bunch of times. I don’t mind you watching, though”

Aziraphale watches the process with morbid curiosity. He hovers over Crowley like a protective mother hen, unsure of what he could even do if things started to go wrong.  
Still on his belly in the grass, Crowley wriggles his body around so he has some room in front of him. His arms stay down at his sides as he pushes his face against the ground, widening the tear across his face until he can start to push through it. He writhes and flexes, loosening the skin and slithering forward to leave it behind. It’s a slow process but Aziraphale is transfixed, partly with concern and partly with wonder.

Finally, Crowley is free of the old skin and he stands up, stretching his back and arms. Aziraphale offers him the blanket that has been laying discarded on the rock garden.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” Crowley doesn’t actually move to take it.

Aziraphale’s brow creases for a split second before understanding and steps closer in order to wrap the blanket around his demon. Crowley catches hold of his hand and holds it against his own chest.

“Smooth and soft, see.”

“Oh yes, very lovely!” Aziraphale beams at the intimacy of the touch, gently caressing the newly revealed skin.

“Right, you can pet me all you want in a minute, Angel. I’ve just gotta eat the old one first.” Crowley turns to hide the mischief in his smile.

Aziraphale blinks hard. His stomach lurches, just a little nauseated at the thought of Crowley consuming his shed skin.

“Oh, um.” He doesn’t know whether to leave or object.

Crowley gathers up the feet of the empty skin and lifts them to his mouth, he makes pointed eye contact with the angel.

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale clicks his fingers and miracles the skin away. “Don’t look at me like that, Crowley.”

The demon can’t help but laugh at the discomfort written all over his angel. He opens his arms to welcome Aziraphale into an embrace.

“Gotcha.”


End file.
